AND are you then a thing of art, Seducing all, and loving none; And have I strove to gain a heart Which every coxcomb thinks his own? And do you, like the dotard's fire, Which, powerless of enjoying any, Feeds its abortive sick desire, By trifling impotent with many? Do you thus seek to flirt a number, And through a round of danglers run, Because your heart's insipid slumber Could never wake to @3feel@1 for @3one?@1 Tell me at once if this be true, And I shall calm my jealous breast; Shall learn to join the dangling crew, And share your simpers with the rest. But if your heart be not so free, -- Oh! if another share that heart, Tell not the damning tale to me, But mingle mercy with your art. I'd rather think you black as hell, Than find you to be all divine, And know that heart could love so well, Yet know that heart would @3not@1 be mine! |